<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Coming Clean by SolitaryScaup</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394905">Coming Clean</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolitaryScaup/pseuds/SolitaryScaup'>SolitaryScaup</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Just two broken boys, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Takes place in season 1, mickey is a little softie, possibly extending to season 2, they actually talk about their feelings sometimes, will update tags as i write more</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 01:57:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394905</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolitaryScaup/pseuds/SolitaryScaup</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff"><p>I kind of just started writing this impulsively today so if people enjoy it I'll write more chapters. Just love these guys and want to make them happy :'). Thank you so much if you actually finished the chapter and are reading this, you rock. Also, the title is a Green Day reference because I think about Mickey when I listen to it (probably because I think about Mickey when I do anything).</p></div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Coming Clean</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>Swear to god I’m gonna kill that fucker someday</i>, Mickey thought as he half-walked, half-limped to his usual “comfort” spot; an abandoned building that looked like many a squatter happily called home. The bottles he left from last time were strewn about the place, most of them the obvious remnants of countless moments of catharsis -- Milkovich style. Drink, destroy, repeat. </p><p>Mickey’s mind was still racing, mostly focusing on what a piece of shit his father was. It was bad enough he used to force mom to do shit she never wanted to do, but his own daughter? His own fucking flesh and blood that he brought into this shitty world for some reason? </p><p>The angry voice in his head only got louder and louder until he threw the case of beers he brought against the nearest wall, desperate for some quiet. </p><p><i>Fuck</i>. </p><p>He watched the beer slide down the wall and pool at the floor. He considered drinking it right there like that, but he wasn’t that desperate. Not yet, at least. Instead, he walked over to the mess and picked up the bottles that still held most of their original shape. He looked at the mannequin bodies he nabbed from the department store’s trash a few months ago and felt his whole body shake. He clenched his fists to ground himself, forgetting what he was holding in his hands. He felt the pain of the glass tearing through his skin, but he was beyond caring. His legs started taking him towards the nearest mannequin (he always thought this one looked like Terry), and he lost the last bit of control he had. </p><p>Next thing he knew, the mannequin was covered in his blood and he was extremely fucking aware of the pain that was now shooting through his hands. Beating the shit out of this thing was nowhere near as satisfying as the real thing would be, but he takes what he can get. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat off of his face and noticed the blood that came with it.</p><p>“Bastard really got me, huh?” Mickey said to the two mannequins left standing. He didn’t think these ones looked like Terry that much. As a matter of fact, the one on the left kinda reminded him of his mom. He never hit that one -- only talked to it when he was feeling particularly vulnerable. Right now was one of those times.</p><p>“Why the fuck did we have to get stuck with this shithead?” he asked in the general direction of the mannequin on the left, his voice low and eyes downcast. He absentmindedly picked up a shard of glass and chucked it as hard as he could out one of the windows. </p><p>“Why’d you leav-” Mickey started to ask, when he heard footsteps approaching. He jumped up and grabbed another shard of glass, his head darting around in search of the person behind the footsteps. What he wasn't expecting to see was that pale, freckly, redheaded Gallagher kid from the Kash and Grab with the same desperate look on his face that Mickey knew all too well. Had it not been for that look, the glass in Mickey’s hand probably would’ve found its way hurtling towards the kid’s head.</p><p>They both looked at each other for a moment, their eyes somehow saying “I see you hurting. I’m hurting too.”</p><p>Mickey was the first to break the heavy silence.</p><p>“The hell are you doing here, Gallagher?” he asked, his voice not nearly as strong as he wished it was. He dropped the shard of glass and wiped his bloody hands on his pants. Ian noticed this and found it oddly comforting.</p><p>“Could ask you the same thing, <i>Milkovich</i>,” he said, managing to break out a pained half-smirk. Mickey didn’t really feel like joking around, but something about this kid put him at ease. </p><p>“Bad day,” Mickey finally said after a pause. Ian stepped closer and examined his face.</p><p>“I’ll say. No offense man, but you look like shit,” he said cautiously. Mickey hadn’t really thought about it, but he figured his old man probably did do a number on him. The pounding in his head and stinging on his face suddenly became apparent, like Ian’s words were some kinda fucked up magic spell. He brought his hand to his face and touched under his eye lightly with the tips of his fingers. Yep. Swollen to hell, just like he figured. </p><p>“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly People magazine’s sexiest man alive,” Mickey gritted through his teeth, somewhat reluctant to open up to some random kid about his daddy issues. Ian chuckled and raised his hands in a mock-defensive way. </p><p>“It’s cool if you don’t wanna talk about it,” he said gently. “I know families suck sometimes, though.” He tried to raise his eyebrows in a way that conveyed understanding. Mickey saw this and nodded slowly. </p><p>“Yeah,” he tried to say clearly, but it only came out in a whisper. He cleared his throat loudly and straightened himself out, unsure of how to continue the conversation. Luckily, Ian always had something to say.</p><p>“So, you come here often?” he asked, only aware of the flirty connotation behind the phrase after the words escaped his mouth. Mickey narrowed his eyes in a “can you fucking believe this kid?” way and barely let himself smile a little. He sat down with his back against the wall and Ian mentally debated on whether or not he should join him. </p><p>“Only when my dad’s being a prick. So, yeah. I come here a lot,” Mickey confessed, painfully aware that he was now, in fact, opening up to some random kid about his daddy issues. He covertly watched Ian’s face for any sign of -- well, anything, really. The only thing he noticed was a subtle nod of understanding. No pity, though, much to his relief.</p><p>“My dad sucks too,” Ian said, sitting down next to him but not too close, “but somehow my mom’s worse.” Mickey tried not to flinch when Ian mentioned his mom, but he couldn’t help it. Ian noticed this and his eyes widened in embarrassment.</p><p>“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to...I’m sorry. I know your mom…” Ian’s voice faded until he wasn’t talking any more. Mickey put on his best “I don’t give a fuck” face and pretended like nothing happened. </p><p>“So, what, you’re here ‘cause of your parents?” Mickey asked, trying to change the subject. Ian saw this and was grateful for the mood shift.</p><p>“Uh, yeah…” he started, unsure if he wanted to bother Mickey Milkovich with his sob story. Mickey waited for a few seconds before he raised his eyebrow at Ian.</p><p>“‘Uh, yeah?’ Chatty Cathy over here suddenly lose her voice or something?” Mickey asked, pretending to be annoyed. Ian, of course, saw right through it and only laughed.</p><p>“Just don’t wanna bore you with it,” he said, smiling. Mickey shrugged his shoulders and subconsciously wiped his forehead again. The blood was still fresh. Ian’s face suddenly grew concerned and he took a closer look at Mickey.</p><p>“Shit, man. Maybe we should do something about that?” he suggested meekly, knowing Milkoviches didn’t usually take too kindly to “suggestions.” Mickey didn’t really seem to care and only shrugged his shoulders again. Ian looked around for anything that could be used to clean up the wounds, then remembered they were in an abandoned building and surrounded by nothing but broken beer bottles. Suddenly, his face lit up and he jumped to his feet.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” he said to Mickey, who looked at him with forced mild disinterest. Mickey watched Ian leave the room and wondered to himself why he was being so goddamn nice. Not that he didn’t like it (he actually welcomed the change for once), but he didn’t think he really did anything to deserve it. Thankfully, he heard Ian’s hurried footsteps coming back before he got too lost in his thoughts again. </p><p>“So I don’t have any rubbing alcohol or bandages on me or anything,” Ian said between gasps of air, “but I do have some vodka and I can rip up my flannel for cloth-”</p><p>“Woah, slow your roll there, carrot top,” Mickey said, thrown off by the burst of energy Ian brought to the room. Ian furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head.</p><p>“You don’t want me to help you?” Ian asked, confused. Mickey rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed, weighing his options here.</p><p>“Do whatever the fuck you want, man,” Mickey said nonchalantly, deciding the option where he let this goofy kid take care of him for a bit seemed to be the most appealing one. He mentally patted himself on the back for what he thought was a convincing portrayal of disinterest. Ian smiled to himself and ripped off a piece of his flannel from the bottom. Mickey watched him carefully as he screwed open the vodka bottle and doused the cloth in it. For some reason the thought of Ian Gallagher being that close to him sent shivers through his whole body. Literally. Ian stopped what he was doing and looked at Mickey.</p><p>“Are you cold?” he asked, taking note of the fact that it was actually pretty fucking cold and Mickey was only wearing jeans and a muscle tank. Before he had the chance to answer, Ian was already setting down the vodka bottle and taking his flannel off. Mickey wanted to say something snappy and on-brand to him, but all he managed to push out was</p><p>“A little.” </p><p><i>What the fuck? Why the fuck did I say that?</i>  He thought to himself. <i>I don’t want his shit.</i></p><p>Too late. Ian was already up on his knees and motioning for Mickey to move forward so he could drape the flannel over his shoulders. Mickey hesitated, then slowly leaned forward. Had Mickey looked at Ian’s face then, he would have seen that he was just as surprised as he was.</p><p>“Um...there,” Ian said once he covered Mickey. He returned to his original sitting position and paused for a moment, almost like he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Mickey was staring at the ground until Ian snapped back into motion, dousing the cloth in alcohol again for some reason.</p><p>“Thanks,” Mickey said quietly, unsure how to make this any less awkward. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Ian said, holding the cloth in his hand. He looked at Mickey and gestured towards his face, asking for permission. Mickey simply shrugged again.</p><p>“Have at it, man. Never had my own personal nurse before,” he joked, trying to ease the unexplainable tension. Ian laughed, which made Mickey feel better. </p><p>When the flannel touched the gash above his eye, Mickey winced.</p><p>“<i>Fuck</i>,” he hissed through his teeth, trying his best not to be a pussy about it. Ian winced empathetically, but didn’t take the cloth away. He’d done this for his siblings too many times to know it goes a lot faster if you just tough through it. </p><p>“Sorry, sorry! I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon,” he offered, hoping it would somehow calm Mickey. </p><p>“It’s cool, man,” Mickey managed to say in a somewhat normal voice, “I’ve been through worse.” It did hurt like hell, though.</p><p>Ian nodded and continued cleaning the rest of Mickey’s face. Every time he would inch closer to see where the cloth needed to go next, Mickey’s breath would hitch. He felt ridiculous having to remind himself to breathe normally. He snuck glances up at Ian’s face to see if he noticed, but their eyes would meet every time and Mickey would have to tear his eyes away to look at that fascinating beetle crawling around on the ground. Ian cleaned Mickey up for nearly a minute more, and then he was done.</p><p>“Much better,” Ian smiled, “I wasn’t sure you still had a face under all that blood.” Mickey returned a much more subdued smile and cleared his throat. </p><p>“Thanks, uh...again,” he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the ground. </p><p>“It’s not a problem, Mick,” Ian said, testing the waters of this new friendship. Mickey didn’t punch or threaten him, so Ian figured maybe he didn’t mind having a nickname. </p><p>They both sat in a somewhat comfortable silence for a moment before Mickey stood up, visibly hurting in places other than just his face. Ian watched him with care and stood up as well.</p><p>“Any more wounds that need cleaning, bones that need set, or any other medical-related services I can provide you with?” Ian asked, only half-joking. Mickey half-smirked and shook his head.</p><p>“All good, Mother Teresa. There’s probably a shitload of kids all around the city that could use your help, though,” Mickey said, realizing too late he made it sound like he wanted Ian to go. Ian picked up on it and nodded, his face falling a bit. </p><p><i>Shit</i>, Mickey thought to himself, <i>why do I feel bad</i>?</p><p>“Yeah,” Ian said, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head in search of an excuse to leave, “they’re, uh...probably wondering where I am by now,” he lied. Mickey knew he was lying, too, but couldn’t bring himself to let Ian think he <i>wanted</i> him to stay. </p><p>“I’ll let you know if I need a fuckin’ EMT any time soon,” he said lightheartedly. When Ian smiled, it put Mickey at ease again somehow. </p><p>“So I should be expecting a call at any moment, is what you’re trying to tell me?” Ian asked almost flirtatiously, raising his eyebrows. The thought of calling Ian and talking to him on his cell phone threw Mickey’s heart out of rhythm. He managed to throw on a smile and respond with a middle finger. Ian smiled and turned to leave.</p><p>“Wait,” Mickey half-yelled, surprising both Ian and himself. Ian turned around, his eyes wide and feet planted to the ground. Mickey limp-walked towards him and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Can’t really call you if I don’t have your number, man,” Mickey muttered, holding his phone out, almost timid. Relief and another emotion Mickey couldn’t quite place washed over Ian’s face as he took Mickey’s phone and began putting his number in. Mickey watched Ian as he did so, really taking the time to notice little things about him, like just how many fucking freckles this kid had (so fucking many), and the way his whole face scrunched up when he was focused. He snapped out of it when he realized Ian was done and holding the phone in front of him expectantly. Mickey took it and shoved it in his pocket quickly, trying to ignore the fact that he was just staring at this kid for what felt like forever. </p><p>“Guess I’ll head out for real this time,” Ian joked in an attempt to ease Mickey’s clearly high-strung nerves. Mickey nodded and scratched his temple inattentively as he stared at the ground once more. </p><p>“See ya,” he said coolly, trying to return to his classic detached persona. </p><p>He waited until he could barely hear Ian’s footsteps to look out the window and see if he could spot him in the street. It wasn’t too hard, considering his head was as close to a ball of flames as you could get, and Mickey watched him get smaller and smaller the further he went. </p><p>Only once Ian was completely out of sight did Mickey realize he forgot to give him his flannel back.</p><p>----------------</p><p>Mickey climbed the stairs and stood in front of the door, taking a deep breath before putting his hand on the knob. He didn’t want to fucking be here. He never wanted to have to come back here again. However, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice. So, he exhaled and opened the door. His dad was still passed out on the floor, just like he left him earlier.</p><p><i>Bastard’s gonna wake up tomorrow with no fucking clue about what he did</i>, Mickey thought to himself. He stood over his limp body and thought of all the things he could do to it. He was pulled from his violent fantasies by Mandy, who heard movement outside of her room and poked her head out the door to see what was going on. When she saw it was Mickey, she dropped the hammer she was holding. Mickey took one last look at Terry and walked towards his sister. He could see she’d been crying for a while now. Normally, he offered words of reassurance to cheer her up, but something told him he should try more. </p><p>In an awkward attempt to be kind, Mickey opened his arms and wrapped them around his sister. She was stiff at first, but soon relaxed in his arms and began sobbing quietly. He wasn’t used to this and he especially didn’t know what to do now that she was crying. He thought about what Ian would do in this situation and moved one of his hands up to cup the back of her head. </p><p>“We’re gonna make this better,” Mickey whispered both to his sister and himself. “Promise.” Mandy sniffled and nodded, pulling away from him. She looked at him, not used to seeing this side of her brother. </p><p>“Thanks, Mick,” she said weakly. He simply nodded and she turned back around into her room. He stood at her closed door for a minute, assessing the damage the house took during the fight today. Chairs and tables were flipped, random shit was strewn all over the floor, and Mickey thought about cleaning up until he realized just how tired he was. His body felt heavy and his head was still pounding, just less intensely now. He dragged his body the few steps to his room and closed the door before throwing himself on his bed. He pulled off Ian’s flannel and looked at it almost longingly for a moment before tossing it beside him on the bed.</p><p>Normally, Mickey didn’t look forward to the moments before sleep since he tended to spend them thinking about all the horrible shit in his life. Tonight, however, he didn’t feel an urge to pass out before his mind wandered too far. Smiling, he pulled out his phone and pulled up his contacts. He skipped to the I’s, but didn’t see any sign of Ian. Same with the G’s. His heart sank, thinking the worst.</p><p>
  <i>Fuck. How fucking stupid was I? Asking for his number like a girl? He probably thinks I’m some desperate fucking weirdo.</i>
</p><p>He frantically searched through his entire contacts list, taking his time to examine every name. There weren’t a whole lot, so it didn’t take very long to see the one that stood out. A smile crept over Mickey’s face as he read the words:</p><p>Personal EMT</p><p>Suddenly his heart was racing again, just like it had been so many times today. His fingers shook as he tapped on the contact and selected the “New Message” option. He bit his lip as he began typing out the message. He typed, erased, and retyped for nearly three minutes before he was satisfied. His final, approved draft read:</p><p>(10:53 PM) took me forever to find your contact, asswipe</p><p>Mickey took a deep breath and hit send. Then, he panicked because he realized Ian didn’t have his number and he just got a message from a random number calling him an asswipe. He quickly hammered out another message:</p><p>(10:54 PM) it’s mickey by the way. you know. the guy whose life you heroically saved </p><p>He debated whether or not he should take out the last part, then realized he was making a big deal out of a simple fucking text. He hit send and waited anxiously. He stared at the screen, unchanging except for the minutes on the clock. He started to feel ridiculous after the third minute, so he decided to listen to some music. He put his earbuds in and shuffled his songs. As soon as the music started, Mickey closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of freedom it gave him. He listened to some Spoon and Green Day until a <a href="https://youtu.be/cwQZ3O3hUe8">certain Radiohead song</a> came on and pulled him away from the comfort of fantasy. He knew the words by heart and always dismissed the obvious reason he felt so drawn to it. </p><p>
  <i>Please forget the words that I just blurted out<br/>
It wasn't me, it was my strange and creeping doubt<br/>
It keeps rattling my cage<br/>
And there's nothing in this world will keep it down</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Even though I might, even though I try, I can't<br/>
Even though I might, even though I try, I can't</i>
</p><p><i>So many things that keep, that keep me underground<br/>
So many words that I, that I can never find</i>-</p><p>Mickey felt tears beginning to form in his eyes when he suddenly felt his phone vibrate. He wiped his eyes in one quick motion and was thankful for the distraction. The phone screen was bright and he had to squint to see, but he had a new message.</p><p>It was Ian.</p><p>(11:09 PM) Lol I thought you’d like it. Are you in need of medical assistance?</p><p>Mickey stared at the screen again for what seemed like forever, reading and re-reading the message. He didn’t want to reply too quickly and seem like he was waiting for Ian to text back, but he really wanted to talk to him more. He waited for a few more minutes and typed out another message, trying his best to sound as casual as possible.</p><p>(11:15 PM) nah just makin sure you didn’t give me a fake number to fuck with me</p><p>He sent the message and immediately closed the app. He wasn’t going to spend any more time staring at the screen waiting for a response like some g-</p><p>His phone buzzed and he scrambled to pick it up. </p><p>(11:16 PM) I’m hurt, Mick. I would never!</p><p>Mickey laughed to himself and rubbed his eyes. He knew he should really get to bed, but there wasn’t a single part of himself that wanted to. He lit a smoke since he figured it was going to be a long night, and began typing a response, smiling like an idiot the whole time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I kind of just started writing this impulsively today so if people enjoy it I'll write more chapters. Just love these guys and want to make them happy :'). Thank you so much if you actually finished the chapter and are reading this, you rock. Also, the title is a Green Day reference because I think about Mickey when I listen to it (probably because I think about Mickey when I do anything).</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>